


If Lost or Stranded, Please Contact Carl at Fitton ATC

by fractionallyfoxtrot



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Dialogue-Only, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-23
Updated: 2012-08-23
Packaged: 2017-11-12 17:55:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractionallyfoxtrot/pseuds/fractionallyfoxtrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In addition to Carl's typical duties as an air traffic controller, he also fields all questions, comments, and complaints about Fitton's own MJN Air.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Lost or Stranded, Please Contact Carl at Fitton ATC

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [ATCs on MJN](http://cabinpres-fic.dreamwidth.org/3282.html?thread=3563730#cmt3563730) prompt on the meme.

“Fitton ATC.”

“Carl, your boys are here.”

“Theo, we’ve been over this hundreds of times: they are not my boys.”

“If you say so. What are they doing here anyway? They never come here.”

“I don’t know. How should I know?”

“Because they’re-”

“They are _not_ my boys!”

“I was going to say because they’re based at your airfield.”

“Oh.”

“And you might’ve known why they were here seeing as you were the one that diverted them.”

“Well...”

“Yes?”

“We had a runway closure. They wouldn’t have been able to land for another twenty minutes.”

“That’s all? They diverted for that? That doesn’t seem like something Douglas would do.”

“It was probably Martin’s decision.”

“Who?”

“The new pilot.”

“Why would he make the decision?”

“He’s the captain.”

“He’s the captain? When you told me they’d hired a new pilot, I automatically assumed he’d be the first officer and Douglas would be promoted to captain.”

“Nope. He’s still first officer. He’s a bit peeved about it too.”

“... And he’s in Bristol.”

“Theo, don’t.”

“They’ve just finished taxiing. I can’t wait to ask Douglas about the new guy. What’s his name again?”

“Martin but, Theo, you really shouldn’t-”

“Bye, Carl.”

“... That’s going to go over well.”

* * *

“Fitton ATC.”

“Carl, they’re doing it. _Again_.”

“So? Just reroute them.”

“This is the fourth time, Carl.”

“And your point being?”

“In less than thirty minutes.”

“I still don’t see what the problem is.”

“Carl, airlines do not operate like this.”

“At least one does.”

“I’m serious, Carl! They can’t just change their mind on a whim and expect me to reroute them to their new destination of the minute! There’s other aircraft to consider and traffic patterns-”

“It’s the Atlantic Ocean, Jenna. I’m sure you can find space for them somewhere.”

“That’s not the point, Carl! They reported and then retracted an emergency; who knows what’s going on up there? I’m not comfortable letting-”

“Look, Jenna, the way I see it, you have two options. You can either reroute them and let them to go to Boston, getting them out of your airspace once and for all, or you can refuse and make them go to Reykjavik and run the risk of dealing with them again when they’re ready to make the second leg of their trip.”

“...”

“Jenna?”

“They should come with a warning.”

“Is that a mountain? I could’ve sworn it was molehill.”

“They should be required to announce themselves as ‘Golf-Tango-India Indecision.’”

“Jenna...”

“Or ‘Golf-Tango-India Irresponsibility.’”

“Jenna...”

“Or-”

“Don’t you have air traffic to control?”

“The next time they want to go to the United States, tell them to take the scenic route.”

“Will do.”

“Shanwick, out.”

“... Somebody’s been sitting in their glass box for a _little_ too long.”

* * *

“Fitton ATC.”

“Carl?”

“Yes?”

“Carl, it’s Maggie at Logan International in Boston.”

“Oh, hello, Maggie. How’ve you been?”

“I’m fine. It’s just... Carl, MJN Air just landed and, well, there’s something going on down on the tarmac and I just, I thought I should call and...”

“What is it now?”

“There’s a dead body coming off the plane.”

“What? Whose?”

“I don’t know! I can’t see it from up here.”

“Is it... It’s not one of the crew, is it?”

“No, I mean, I don’t think so. There’s one, two, three... oh, there’s Arthur, four. No, all four of them are fine. It must be one of the passengers.”

“Okay.”

“What do you think-”

“No, Maggie, no. Just stop. I’m pretty sure I’m better off not knowing.”

* * *

“Fitton ATC.”

“...”

“Fitton ATC.”

“...”

“This is Fitton ATC, do you read me?”

“I do not like him.”

“Who?”

“The new pilot. He is very rude.”

“You’re going to have to give me a little more than that.”

“He shouted at me when I gave him the weather!”

“Oh, Henry. Hello. Who shouted at you?”

“The new pilot! He asked for the weather so I gave it to him and he shouted at me. It’s not my fault there were thunderclouds, I can’t control the weather.”

“It was probably just a misunderstanding. I’m sure Martin didn’t mean to shout at you, Henry.”

“Contrary to my title, I don’t actually _control_ anything. I survey the situation and the elements and then I advise pilots on the best course of action. I shouldn’t be blamed for delays, or emergencies, or acts of God that are beyond my control!”

“Whoa. Calm down, Henry. No one’s blaming you for anything.”

“He did.”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean to.”

“I do not like him.”

“Yes, I know. You said that.”

“He is very rude.”

“You said that too.”

“... Douglas is never rude to me.”

“Henry, do you want me to ask Martin to apologize to you?”

“No, of course not. That’s silly. I’m a grown man.”

“Okay.”

“...”

“Do you want me to blame something on Martin that’s beyond _his_ control?”

“Like what?”

“I could call his next landing with a crosswind ‘wobbly.’”

“He wouldn’t like that?”

“He would hate that.”

“...”

“Henry?”

“He is very rude, Carl.”

“I know. That’s the third time you’ve said that. Do you want me to do anything about it?”

“... No. No, I will not ask you to treat him as he treated me. I just wanted to tell you that-”

“That you do not like him. Yes, I got that.”

“Good.”

“Was there anything else?”

“... No.”

“Okay. Good talking to you, Henry. Bye.”

“Bye, Carl.”

“... When did I become a primary school teacher?”

* * *

“Fitton ATC.”

“Carl, it’s Roger.”

“Roger, Roger.”

“Carl.”

“Sorry, it’s the last hour of my shift. All of my sanity’s been set aside for the aeroplanes. You said Roger, right? Roger who? There are so many Rogers.”

“Roger from Cairo.”

“Oh, Roger! Roger, Roger. How’s Cairo?”

“Actually I’m at OR Tambo in Johannesburg now-”

“I hear South Africa’s lovely this time of year.”

“-and so are your boys.”

“Have you been talking to Theo?”

“Carl, one of the guys from the ground crew just radioed to tell me that he found them-”

“Were they playing hide and seek?”

“Carl. Latch on to some of that sanity for two seconds and listen. He found them sleeping in their plane on the tarmac.”

“And?”

“They can’t do that.”

“Why not? Is there some sort of rule against it?”

“Well, probably, I’m not completely sure. Unauthorized personnel aren’t allowed on the tarmac.”

“They’re in the plane, aren’t they? I’m pretty sure they’re authorized to be in their own plane. It’s not like they’ve spread their sleeping bags out in the middle of the runway.”

“Carl...”

“Or set up some tents in the taxilane.”

“Carl...”

“Or-”

“Carl, they can’t stay there.”

“Look, Roger, I’m going to tell you something and if Carolyn ever finds out that I told you this, I will deny it until my dying day. They’re not a small company, Roger; they’re a teeny, tiny, little company with one aeroplane. One aeroplane that is simultaneously both the backbone and the Achilles’ heel of their company. There’s a very good chance that they’re sleeping in the plane because they can’t afford to put themselves up in a hotel for the night. They may have nowhere else to go. Can’t you just let them sleep in the plane? It’s no different from the aircraft sitting there unoccupied all night.”

“Carl, it’s just-”

“Don’t make them sleep in the terminal. At least let them have the comfort of their own plane.”

“Carl, the airport manager says they can’t stay there for the night.”

“Then let me talk to him.”

“He’s not a man you want to talk to when most of your sanity’s been set aside.”

“I’ll gather it back up. Let me talk to him.”

“Carl, I really don’t think-”

“Roger. Let me talk to him.”

“... All right. Hold on for a second, I’ll patch you through.”

* * *

“Fitton ATC.”

“Carl!”

“Benny!”

“How’s it going, Carl? Did you hear the results of the match?”

“Hear it? I was watching the match, mate! It was an excellent win!”

“But... but, how? Aren’t you on duty?”

“It’s been a slow day. I had one of the guys from the fire crew sitting up here so I could watch the match with the engineers.”

“I’ll never figure out how you have one of the best safety records of all the ATCs in the area.”

“Talent, Benny, pure talent. I can feel the weather and I could control traffic patterns with my eyes closed.”

“Then you’re very lucky to have found your calling. Speaking of engineers...”

“Yes?”

“I’ve got a message here from our Chief Engineer. Eddie says to tell the _Commander_ that the next time he lands in Birmingham, Eddie’s going to pull all the Gaffer tape off of his aircraft and the _Commander_ can only leave if he can make it down the runway without the wings falling off, since Gaffer tape repairs are _not_ by the book.”

“...”

“Carl? Did you need me to repeat it?”

“No. No, I got it.”

“Did you understand it? I have no idea what he’s talking about.”

“Unfortunately, I understood that perfectly. Thanks, Benny. I’ll make sure Martin gets it.”

* * *

“Fitton ATC.”

“Carl, it’s Anton.”

“Anton, my admirable amigo. How can I help you at this abhorrently early hour?”

“It’s MJN Air.”

“Already? It’s not even noon.”

“Carl, they’ve had a bird strike.”

“... What?”

“I received notice of their Mayday a few minutes ago. One of their engines is on fire, possibly due to a bird strike. We’ve cleared them for priority landing but I have yet to see them.”

“...”

“Carl?”

“What are the conditions?”

“Clear skies, minimal snow on the runway, but there’s a crosswind.”

“Speed?”

“Twenty-six knots.”

“...”

“Carl?”

“Call me when they land.”

“Even if-”

“Call me when they land.”

* * *

“Fitton ATC.”

“Carl, it’s Anton.”

“It’s about time! What took you so long?”

“I’m sorry, Carl. They were farther out than I anticipated.”

“Well?”

“They’ve just landed. The fire crew is out there right now extinguishing the engine and the mechanics are checking the plane for any other potential hazards. The ground crew hasn’t radioed yet to say whether or not-”

“The crew, Anton, the crew! Is the _crew_ all right?”

“Oh, yes. I believe they’re fine.”

“All four of them?”

“Yes. Let me just, yes, I see them. They’re all in a truck being driven to the terminal as we speak.”

“And they’re all fine?”

“The medical team would’ve been dispatched by now if they weren’t.”

“Okay. Next time, you should open with that instead of the play-by-play of what’s going on with the aircraft.”

“Duly noted, Carl.”

“So... one engine on fire and a crosswind? That must’ve been some landing.”

“It was very impressive. Even with one engine, the crosswind landing procedure was executed perfectly; it was practically textbook. The plane came down pretty hard but that was to be expected. We’ve seen worst landings from infinitely better planes.”

“... I can’t believe they let Martin land it.”

“The ground crew will probably be talking about it for weeks to come.”

“Your ground crew, our ground crew, anybody who’s willing to hear about it, I’m sure.”

“Although with one engine out of commission, I’m not sure how they’re going to fly out.”

“They’ll think of something, they always do.”

“I’ll let you know when they file a flight plan.”

“If you’d be so kind.”

“Not a problem, Carl.”

“... Anton?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for calling me.”

“Not a problem, Carl.”

* * *

“Phil?”

“Yeah, Carl?”

“They’ll be arriving soon. You should probably get down to the tarmac for the Birling Day Frisking of the First Officer.”

“I don’t know why she makes me do that every year. He never has it on him.”

“Well, she hates to lose. Oh, hang on, Phil. Fitton ATC.”

“Fitton Approach, this is Golf-Tango-India.”

“Hello, Martin. We’ve got a spot reserved for you on the south green. Come on in, take a seat, put your feet up. The kettle’s just boiled.”

“Carl.”

“Roger, Golf-Tango-India. You’re cleared to land on one-eight at your earliest discretion.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Did you have a nice Birling Day?”

“I... I’d rather not talk about it.”

“If you say so. Phil’s on his way down to meet you.”

“Roger, Carl.”

“Phil?”

“Yeah?”

“They’re coming in to land. Better get down there.”

“On my way.”

“Let me know how he did it this time.”

“You got it, Carl.”

“... Welcome home, boys.”


End file.
